McManus (Rubber Legs and White Tail-Hairs: Never Sniff a Gift Fish, etc.), that straight-shooting, latter-day Dan'l Boone, has hit the trail again with another collection of lightsome selections. He's still in good form, and fans can be expected to take this seventh outing hook, line, and sinker. Among the more than two dozen pieces of bail is the title one, a funny country cousin to Thurber's "The Night the Bed Fell" and a deft hunters' apologia. There are first-rate, though belated, instructions on how to be a kid. (Annoy the heck out of the family by blowing a tin horn. Grab a kid brother and tie him up in the basement. Stuff like that.) McManus, of course, grew up to become an intrepid hunter, one who, as he tells it, could keep "an entire party of hunters crouched breathless and freezing in the snow while I watched a herd of dead trees cross over a ridge and head in our direction." Naturally, the author, being a literary man, is not always out hunting. Sometimes he is out fishing. Well, maybe it's less fishing than hauling boats around, swapping fishfinders, or removing hooks from his anatomy, but he is out there. And with him are old friends Rancid Crabtree, Retch Sweeney, Valvoleen Grooper, and all the gang. No special hunting, fishing, or camping expertise is required of the reader; this tract isn't posted. A nice chance to enjoy fishing with plastic worms, all the comical aspects of white-water rafting, and the fun of confronting a dumb antelope--all the Great Outdoors, in fact--right at home in the Barca-Lounger.